Something Old, New, Borrowed and Blue
by Mandolina Lightrobber
Summary: Doma Bikers－centric. After they are separated, you'd think they could move on and start everything anew. Is that really that easy? /Amelda, Raphael, Varon/
1. Something Old

**Full Title: _Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue._** I had to shorten it because of the limited character count.

**A/N:** Okay, this is something that came to my mind for one odd reason or the other. As the title suggests, it has four different parts, each referring to one Doma biker, and one (actually – two) that unites them all. You might be able to guess which refers to which, but don't count on that.

As for the rather weird way Varon speaks – he's barely fourteen in this one and just off the island for heaven's sake! And the last time I checked – jail was not a good manners' camp for boy scouts. So live with it!

Reviews will be most appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** I know it. You know it. We _all_ know it. And so does Kazuki Takahashi-san.

**Warnings:** None so far.

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**Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue**

**Part 1 – Something Old**

Sun was slowly rising above the horizon, spilling soft golden light over the houses of the still partially dormant city. The crystalline blue sky was completely rid of clouds and the day promised to be sizzling hot despite the soft western breeze that was sailing through the streets and playing with the curtains behind the open windows. The streets were almost empty due to the early morning hour, and the traffic was only starting to wake up and gaining force. At first there was only one, then five, then twelve cars and soon enough the city would buzz with life and rush. Honks, screeches, laughing children, beeping signals of closing doors of the public transport, and a new working day could begin.

Cold, emotionless eyes were watching over the lively scene far below. He could do that – the building he was in was one of the highest in San Francisco, and he was standing on the top floor of it. The owner of those cold eyes was very well aware of what was happening in the lover levels of the building, and how could he not be if he had been the one to bring all of this about? The man smirked to himself and turned back to observing the developing rush below. The entire city was at his feet – only metaphorically today, but quite literally tomorrow. His enemies were all gathered in one city, and he would have to scatter them first to get his plan fulfilled. Unfortunately enough, the city they inhabited was not the same he lived in. However, that did not concern him.

Ten thousand years was a long time, he thought, one eye glinting eerie green while the other remained a warm sunflower colour. He certainly could wait a little bit longer if the result was unlimited control over the entire world. And he would start right here, with San Francisco, then move over the ocean to other continents. He could already taste the power he would soon wield, and it was dizzying. Almost like the strong wine the best of his winemakers used to prepare, this intoxicating feeling surged through his veins and mulled his mind. All of his previous grace and royalty was long gone now, and he was the only one to still remain and remember. And for one he knew that power could be equally intoxicating.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

On the fifteenth floor, two young men were waiting for the appearance of someone third, who, as they were told, would join them. The time was slowly nearing midday and the most temperamental of the duo, which you would undoubtedly recognize as Amelda, was getting impatient. 

"What's taking him so long?"

"Relax, Amelda. He certainly has a good reason for being late," a gruff blonde – without a doubt Raphael – tried to reason, but it was three hours too late for that now. His redheaded comrade's boiling blood had long gone volcanic. The third member – whoever he was – would do smarter showing up now, unless he fancied facing a hurricane _el Loco_.

As if on cue, the door was pushed open and two heads snapped towards the sound. A small, but to our readers familiar, brunette strutted in, completely oblivious to the grey glare that was directed his way. The same glare trailed him up and down with incredulous scrutiny before its owner turned to Raphael.

"Figures that _he_ would assign us with a child to shepherd."

"Hey!" an indignant voice with heavy Australian accent called out, and Amelda looked up. The brunette was now standing next to his chair and glowering down at him in a manner that he himself found to be very intimidating. With a mental snort, the redhead noted how _far_ that was from intimidating. "Who're you callin' a child?"

Amelda slowly rose from his seat and straightened to his full height, erasing the blue-eyed brunette's seeming advantage. "Obviously, you." His grey eyes were icy now. He was so _not_ going to associate himself with a child. Walking past the foreigner, he addressed Raphael with sarcasm, "He's all yours, Raphael."

The Australian was furious! Not only was the redhead trying to insult him and succeeding in that, but leaving the room, he had also showed him aside, and Varon was tired of everyone pushing him around. _That red-haired woman… uh… _man_ is in for it now!_ Oh yes, Varon needed a double-take to realize that the redhead was indeed a man and not a woman. (The way he walked must have given it out, if you ask me.) Just as the fiery brunette made to follow Amelda, whose name he did not even know yet, someone cleared his throat, and he was forced to remember that another person was present in the room. Slowly, he turned to glance at he blonde male sitting at the long desk.

For a moment the silence was so loud that it jarred their ears. Then Raphael remembered to speak. "I assume you are the person we've been waiting for. And as you might already know, I'm Raphael, and that," a curt nod towards the door indicated the departed redhead, "was Amelda."

"Amelda? Funny name. Ain't soundin' manly."

"And what is _your_ name?" The tone was indifferent, but still partially polite. Raphael was confused. In a way Amelda was right. The brunette was still pretty much a child. He could be no older than fifteen.

"Uh…" Varon faltered. Everyone always made comments about his name. And if it was not the name, then his hair for certain. "Variola," "Varlet," "Broomhead," and "Mudpoodle" were only a few of the "nicknames" the kids at the orphanage had gifted him with. "Varon."

The brunette was positively surprised when no comment followed. But the silence coming afterwards was nowhere near being pleasant. He did not know how to act in a situation like this, he did not know how to get along with the other two and most of all, he did not know why he needed to be with them when he could do everything on his own. Well, perhaps not _everything_… To make matters worse, his stomach grumbled rather loudly and the Australian felt heat rush to his cheeks.

Raphael merely raised a brow. "I take it, you're hungry."

"Uh…" Varon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. He had last eaten the yesterday morning and even that had been a lousy jail stew. "Sorta."

Finally gaining back some of his confidence, the blonde stood up and addressed him authoritatively now, "Come along, then." He hoped Amelda would not be in the improvised kitchen or a fight would be inevitable. Somehow Raphael could tell that today's little show had been only a beginning of something he might have to put up with on a regular basis.

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­So, the ancient power of Orichalcos brought them together once, and the ancient power of Orichalcos tore them apart again. Years later, they would be scattered and all alone again with no point to get, no place to call home, and no one to rely on apart themselves. 

And that is where this story starts.

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_**A/N:** The fact that this story has four different parts doesn't mean that it has only four chapters. __Please, review. Thank you!_


	2. Something New

**Full Title: _Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue._** I had to shorten it because of the limited character count.

**A/N:** I am SO, SO, SO **SORRY** for making you all wait this long. BUT. Fear not, for this chapter is as long as the waiting you had to go through. Make sure you don't fall asleep reading all this crap. I encourage you to jump over the most boring parts. And with great shame I have to admit that I have not yet killed the writer's block, but I pursue it like Bakura the seven Millennium Items. Now I shall shut up and go hunt it down and then kill it slowly and painfully.

**Disclaimer:** I know it. You know it. We _all_ know it. And so does Kazuki Takahashi-san. I'm just borrowing his characters for my and your amusement.

**Warnings:** Gore and violence. And a lot of boring side-crap that has very little to do with Varon. Unless you squint very hard and lean to the left. Lean a lot. (Just don't fall over -- that would be no good.)

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**Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue**

**Part 2 – Something New**

What _was_ his name, really? Varon? Valon? He did not know. Mother Mary had called him Varon, but he seriously doubted that was his name. He had switched it to Valon because the kids at the orphanage made fun of "Varon." It did not help much, though. If anything, it only showed that such insignificant things affected him quite a lot. Besides, it only provided the other kids with superb ammunition to needle him with.

_At least they knew their names_, the brunette thought bitterly. Before Mother Mary had come along and picked him up off the street, he had spent years nameless. Hiding behind trashcans and in broken down buildings, digging in trash and stealing to survive had been his only religion, his only reality. He had been more of a little untamed animal than a human child, barely speaking at all, and when he did, only curses streamed like a river from the four-year-old's mouth. But Mother Mary had changed that. She had been new to the system and very idealistic. She had tried to help all of the children with poor living circumstances, but many of them had gone too far and were already beyond saving. Except for Varon.

Varon smirked sourly to himself when the memories swirled back in his mind. He had been so desperate to have someone who would love him and care for him, that, when it finally happened, he had done everything to hurt that person. He had hit, scratched, spat, screamed and fought only to be kept closer, held tighter and loved more. One too many times he had made Mother Mary cry, but she had not given up on him. What Varon realized only later was that she was, in the first place, a nun, and it was her nature – to never give up on anyone, no matter how hopeless the situation might seem. And little Varon Brown had demanded most of her time, even at the expense of Mother Mary herself. It affected her other duties and got her in trouble with the heads of the communion, but it had also earned her the complete Varon's trust and a very strange form of love.

_Brown_. Brown like his hair. Varon hated that last name because it was not his. Then again, the names Greene and Grey were no better. At the orphanage, it was the way of naming those children who were nameless – they gave them their first names according to the calendar date, but for the last names they had an entire system worked out. They dealt each week a name – either Black, Brown, Greene, Grey or White. Obviously, Varon had been brought in on the Brown week. It was a stupid system in Varon's opinion, but a system nonetheless.

Right now he was back in Sydney, roaming the familiar albeit foreign streets and trying to find his identity. He was no longer Varon Brown. He was once again nameless. Varon Brown had served his purpose and put to rest. No one needed him anymore. No name, no identity, no purpose, no aim. No life, even. All he had now was empty existence. After Paradius went on bankrupt, he had no backing and nowhere to go. Varon did not know why he decided to return to his old homeland. Perhaps some odd nostalgic side of his had poked its head out of the recesses of his mind and made him to do it. At least it was a goal, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Right this moment, however, Varon thought it to be a stupid goal and himself to be a complete idiot for following it because to provide money for a ticket back, he had to sell his motorcycle, and even then the money had been barely enough to get a ticket back to Australia, and what was left of it was not even enough to stay at some cheap youth hostel. To sum up the situation, not only was he back in his old homeland, he was also broke and without a shelter.

_Woo hoo! Can't you feel the joy I feel? _he thought with dry sarcasm and out of frustration kicked a metal cork that lay in his path, as forgotten and useless as he himself felt at the moment. He missed his yellow motorcycle more than anything else from his previous life. A vehicle was an item of certain freedom. He could go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and the only thing he needed was gasoline and imperforated tyres. Varon regretted selling it. Of course then he would have not been able to return to Australia, but right now he doubted that this was the right place for him to be. What had he hoped to find here? Had he truly believed that he would find his family? Or that his life would get a whole new meaning if he returned to the land of his childhood? Currently the brunette found it all to be stupid and quite senseless. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere. This was not his home. In fact, this was as much of a home as any other place around the world. _Just poke a globe and call it home_, Varon snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. He did not belong here. Perhaps once he had, but not any longer. Now, he never belonged anywhere.

The mid-day sun was beating down on him even though he had removed his self-proclaimed biker-style clothes and exchanged them for a pair of simple faded blue jeans, white T-shirt and a red sports blazer. The latter was quite useless in the heat therefore it was stuffed in his grey backpack that was loosely slung over one his shoulder. Varon raised his hand to wipe sweat away from his eyebrows and forehead, and chanced a glare up at the sun. The huge yellow bulb was blinding and he flinched away from it. As the teen meandered along the sidewalks, eyes casually slipping over the large grey-looking houses, his empty stomach grumbled accusingly. Sighing, the youth glanced around to locate a food store. Now that he thought back on it, he had not had a decent meal in… _what? Half a day? A day and a half?_

Sighing, Varon dove one hand in his pocket to fish for his money. Once it withdrew from there, his breath caught involuntarily upon realizing how little it looked. For one terrifying second he did not dare to count it, but he had to. Squinting at his money with one eye, he calculated that it should be enough for a sandwich and some soft drink. _Yeah, in the US_… The truth was, he did not know if the prices were different in Australia, and there was only one way to find out. He looked around for a store that would look cheap enough and once finding one, braved it straight away. After he emerged from it, he possessed a botchily wrapped-up cheese sandwich and a 0.5 litre bottle of mineral water. It turned out that he had enough money only for that. Once outside, Varon took his time stuffing them inside his backpack, then looked around for a quieter and, hopefully, cooler place where he could take a short rest and fortify himself. Since there was no park within sight and the thought of eating in some bus station was not all that appealing, he walked on until he reached the part of the city that looked more like a residential area. Despite the tall blockhouses, there was some greenery as well, and the brunette found a bench under an old eucalyptus tree. He sighed contentedly and stretched, sticking out his aching feet. He had no idea of how many miles he had crossed that day; the city was deceiving and did not reveal the true mileage. Fist thing Varon did was take a long gulp of the mineral water, the sight of it bringing forth the realization of how thirsty he actually was. The quality of the liquid made him grimace though. Fist off, it was not cold, which was a disappointment in a hot day like this. Even in the store where he bought it, it had been quite warm because they had no conditioning or fridges. Second, it tasted like vapid chemical; all the bubbles almost gone and the period of its validity quite questionable. Next, he reached for the sandwich and unwrapped it hastily. He was so hungry that it was almost unbelievable. After the first big bite, Varon slowed down. The white bread was tasteless, the salad leaves – sere and wiry and the cheese tasted a little bit old. The only decent things were the tomatoes and mayonnaise. But since Varon was as hungry as he was, he decided not to care. This was the last of his motorcycle, and he was not going to throw it away the way he had done with his vehicle itself.

After the poor meal, which, in better circumstances, would have been a second breakfast, Varon remained sitting on the bench, slowly sipping on the leftovers of the chemically indulged water and thinking of what to do next. Now that the remainder of his money was gone (not accounting for those few coins in his pocket), he was in an even deeper trouble. He did not know anyone in Australia who could help him. He had no friends, no relatives, no one. The criminal record in his past denied the possibility of getting a job to provide himself with money, and even if that would not be so, what could he do? Most of his peers were still in school, getting some proper education while Varon was almost illiterate. Before Mother Mary died, she had taught him to read and write. Today, he could read albeit slowly and write his own name, and with that the story ended. His handwriting was plain horrible, even he himself could see that – it was awfully scrawly and did not improve no matter what. During the following years he had not had the time to practice writing. Then, during Doma he had learned to count under the guidance of Raphael. Well, perhaps giving all the credit to the blonde would not be right because Varon could count even before that. The blonde had merely taught him a few mathematical things – not what you learn in a regular school, but what is essential for the real life, and Varon needed nothing more.

Taking another lazy sip from the now almost empty bottle of mineral, Varon straightened. The thought of visiting the part of the city where he had spent his childhood had just occurred to him, and he was instantly filled with nervous rush. The brunette quickly downed the remaining water, gathered all his belongings (meaning – threw the bag on his shoulders once again), crumpled the empty plastic bottle and picked up the wrapping paper of the sandwich to discard them in the first trashcan on his way. The brunette walked back towards the food store, remembering to have seen a city map somewhere in that area to find out which direction he should go. After he had established his location and checked the directions, it turned out that he had to walk through, what appeared, half of the city to get there. Sighing, he straightened the bag upon his shoulders and turned down the corner, a new rush darting through his limbs and filling him with impatience to reach his newly acquired goal.

When Varon reached the significant area, the biggest part of his enthusiasm had worn off. After crossing almost half of the city on his feet, he felt like collapsing on the spot and remaining that way for a year or so. The setting sun in the distance did not lighten his mood either. Blood-red sunrays streamed between the houses ahead of him, the light waning with each second and casting a veil of dusk over his surroundings. It was rather dark when he finally stopped in front of a church. It was the same area, yet completely different. It was the same church, yet completely different. His memories swirled back to elaborate and get acquainted with the new picture. The burnt-down church had been rebuilt and was no longer the way he remembered it to be, the new façade held little resemblance to the old one. Also the whole area had been more wilder looking, more green, but now the once distant high blockhouses had come nearer, casting dark shadows over the church that seemed to be shrunken in size. No, he did not belong here.

Varon shuddered. Too many unpleasant memories were coming back to him, too many things resurfaced that he would all too gladly forget. The brunette regretted coming here, he regretted the very idea of going back to Australia. No one expected him here, no one was waiting for him, no one welcomed his homecoming, no one needed him. His existence was pointless. He was alone just like in the beginning. Not being able to take it any longer, Varon spun on his heel and swiftly strode away. He did not want to remember.

Varon decided that so far this had been his worst decision. He was stuck in an unknown area in a foreign continent, it was getting dark rather quickly and he had nowhere to go. Somehow he was forced to guess – how long would it take him before he got in trouble? Or rather, how long would it take until some kind of a trouble got to _him_. And it always did. For one odd reason or the other he seemed to be a trouble magnet. Perhaps he invited them with his attitude or the "I've got nothing to lose" front set up most of the time. Today Varon had to walk seven blocks down the street until the first danger signals went through his body in the form of unpleasant shivers. Being a street-kid had sharpened his senses, yet mostly he did not heed his intuition to almost always regret it later. And this time was not going to be an exception. Carrying himself proudly and defiantly, he walked straight on, inviting whatever bad deeds lay ahead.

"Yo, Broomhead!"

The voice from behind made Varon spin around. All the "nickname" from his past had done was angered him, and it was never smart to provoke his anger.

"Ya seem familia'," the same voice stated, swallowing the ends of the words, and its owner slowly stepped out of the shadows, another person silently following him.

It took Varon approximately ten seconds to recognize the bullies from the orphanage. _Figures_. If he remembered himself correctly, the orphanage was not too far away from where they were right now. As the brunette surveyed the pair with wary and slightly narrowed eyes, he started calculating which one of those two would be more dangerous. Both his opponents had black hair, their eye colour going unnoticed in the faint darkness, but the speaker was gruffer. He was approximately Varon's height while the other was thinner, longer and was munching on a chewing gum. They both had their eyes unfriendly narrowed.

"Ye'r right, Blake. He _is_ familia'," the taller youth bared his teeth in a grin. "Ain't he the kid all the time holdin' in that bitch's of a nun skirt?"

"Leave her outta this!" Varon snapped, his temper getting the best of him. Too late he realized his mistake. _Damn_.

"So you _are_ him, eh?" Blake queried with a smirk.

"What's it to you?" Varon's hands tightened into fists. From both the guys' faces he could tell that a fight was inevitable. From his past experiences he knew that Blake was not one to pass up beating someone weaker to death for his own amusement. However, with Varon he would be in for a surprise or two. The brunette was not the kid that these bullies remembered him to be.

"What's the name was? Variola? Ha ha ha ha ha!" The other laughed.

"Don't choke on your gum, mate," Varon muttered with annoyance, the name Martin passing through his mind, and the brunette was not mistaken._ Oh, lucky, lucky me_, he thought with sarcasm. A run in with his childhood bullies on his first night back home; could this get any better?

"I think Broomhead is needing a less'n in the name of good ol' times, eh, Marty?" Blake cracked his knuckles, a look of longing settling on his face to stay fixed there. He predicted an easy victory over this teen, reminiscing on how easy it had been when Varon was smaller.

"Ye'r right, me mate," Martin "Marty" walked around Varon to box him in, spitting out the chewing gum as he went. The brunette did not seem all that strong to either of them, but to assume that was a mistake – for them, anyway.

"Bring it on, _mate_," mocking the word, Varon straightened himself, let his backpack fall to the ground and took a defensive position. He had grown in the past years, and even if he was no match for Raphael in strength and Amelda in speed, he knew that he would win this fight. The thought of his once fellow bikers stung for one odd reason or another, and the brunette pushed it back in the dark corners of his mind from whence it had come. He had promised himself to forget about them. They had moved on, they did not need him, he did not need them and that was that. Right now he had a fight to win and he concentrated on it full force.

He was doing good, throwing punches, avoiding punches, landing kicks and blocking kicks. Perhaps he was doing too well for it to be real. Blake was already lying on the ground, knocked out, and when Varon turned to handle Martin the same way, the taller bully was nowhere to be seen. The brunette youth came to a conclusion that he had run away while he still could because, even during the fight, he had held back, letting Blake handle everything. Relieved that it was over now, Varon brushed himself off, rubbed his aching ribs, leaned down to pick up his backpack to set it back on his shoulder and walked away from the site. But he had relaxed too soon. Only two blocks down he was surrounded by at least ten others and "Marty" was among them, one his cheek already starting to swell.

"Oh, _great_," Varon growled under his breath, surveying the crowd and the weapons of choice – metal or wooden sticks, baseball bats, chains and whatnot – that some of them were holding. He guessed it could get worse any time you thought that it could not. The brunette flexed his shoulders and let the straps of his backpack slip down in his hand, intending to use the bag as a weapon. This time he might not win, but that did not mean that he would not try to.

* * *

As Varon lay there on the ground, beaten down to the point when he could not even move or feel pain, his mind was drifting on the border of unconsciousness. His own blood colouring the pavement and his sense of touch eerily detached, the teen came to a realization that he no longer cared whether he lived or died. It just did not matter anymore. Just like many other things, it was no longer important to him – his name, for example. He did not know it, he could not remember… _And the darkness_… The darkness was so inviting. It seemed so good, so right, so… so _logical_ to give in to it. 

Varon was only barely holding on to the last remains of his consciousness, and the silent scraping sound that reached his hearing as if through a thick layer of glass made no sense. Moments, but perhaps a whole eternity later something wet was thrust in his face. The last sanity leaving him, the brunette assumed that, considering his recent streak of luck, someone of his past – and present too, as it appeared – bullies had returned to pee on him. Or perhaps they had not left at all. Varon did not know how long he was lying here on the cold and uncomfortable ground. Those might have been just seconds as well as several days.

At first the brunette thought that he was just hearing or imagining voices, but when someone rolled him over on his back, he somehow managed to force his eyes open. The image was very blurry, but he could make out female features and a mess of blonde hair. Disbelief mixed with desperate hope. "Mai?" That one word was the last thing that he managed before falling back into perpetual darkness.

* * *

Two young women were walking down the street, discussing something in hushed voices. A large golden-brown and black Belgian sheepdog was running around them in circles, looking as "worn-down" as their surroundings. This area was not friendly, especially after the fall of twilight. One of the girls had shoulder-length dark blonde hair, and the other – cropped dark brown locks that neatly bent inwards upon their own will. They were both heading home from work in a food store down the street, and talked about the growing prices and their falling salary. It was typical for this part of the city – while the simple people struggled to survive, their landlords and the entrepreneurs of whatever small business they came up with struggled to get more money out of other's misfortunes. 

"Jess! Jessa, where are you? Come on, girl. Come here!" one of the girls called out, her eyes narrowing at her surroundings as she searched for her dog. "Jessa!"

"Relax, Vicca. She'll come back." The other girl stuffed a few white locks back behind the ribbon around her head. She was not an animal-lover, and she did not care whether the dog would or would not come back. Black eyes nervously scanned the street, and she shivered, but not from the coldness in the air.

Seventeen-years-old Victoria "Vicca" Lewes ignored her co-worker. She stopped to survey the street more carefully, cat-like yellow eyes narrowing in concentration. "Jessa?"

"Oh, come on!" the blonde girl whined. She did not like to live in this part of the city, but her parents had no money to move out to some more civilized area. She had already started saving money to get out of this place, but it was happening slower than she liked.

"Can it, Becca. How will I explain her disappearance to Toby?" Toby was Tobias, Victoria's nine-year-old half-brother. The girl stepped off the cracked sidewalk and headed across the road to the other side of the street. She thought to have heard some sort of noise in the darkness in one of the alleyways nearby. "Jessa?"

Rebecca "Becca" Stanton muttered something, but followed the brunette nonetheless. She did not want to stay alone on the street when who knows what was roaming around. She had heard too many gruesome stories about this place, and hated it with a passion not many could possess. When things came to her, all the dogs of the world could just lie down and die this very instant.

A silent bark interrupted the semi-quiet of the street, and Victoria turned around to walk back to one of the side-streets they had passed by just moments ago. "Jessa?"

When the girl turned around the corner, she was forced to stop. It was rather dark in there, but not dark enough to mask everything. There was blood on the cracked pavement, and in the middle of the dark puddle was lying a possibly male person. Jessa was poking her muzzle in his face in an apparent try to wake him up, but received zero reaction. Victoria assumed that she had smelled the blood and gone investigating even though it was highly uncommon for her. Deliberately, the youth made her way over to the crumpled figure on the ground. Rebecca came up right behind her, almost knocking the brunette girl over in her rush. She had been looking back over her shoulder and had not yet noticed the scene in the alley. But when she did, she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Vicca, don't!" Rebecca's voice was quite frantic. She had heard stories where thugs pretended to be dead or injured, masking it with ketchup or red paint and when someone came up to help them, robbed and even killed such Samaritans. Mostly, they were not alone, but a whole gang. "It's a trap!"

"For once in your life, Becca – use your brains!" Victoria snapped. She had heard the stories, too (from Rebecca), but did not consider this to be one of those cases. Her paranoid co-worker was just too paranoid sometimes. The brunette squatted down, making sure to not step into the blood, and tried to find the person's pulse. Looking at the lifeless form, she came to a conclusion that it really was a young male. He had dark messy hair, possibly brown, but the light was not enough to tell. "He needs our help and you freaking out here is not helping."

"You don't know who he is! Let's just leave. Please!" Rebecca begged desperately, the sight of blood both making her sick and drawing her nearer to the site. The blonde did not want to be here when the ones who did all that to the lifeless youth returned for a second round, but it was unthinkable that she could leave alone. For that, she needed Victoria and her dog with the ridiculous name.

"Don't talk nonsense!" Victoria was growing worried. Back in the school, her entire class had skipped the lessons of how to help people in situations like these for the simple fact that they had to perform a mouth-to-mouth on some stupid dummy called Bob. After all, they had been in "that" age then. Now, she really regretted that. "Back off, Jess," the brunette admonished and pushed the dog aside. "We have to turn him over on his back. I can't feel the pulse."

"_You what_? Are you just mad or plain crazy?" However, Rebecca moved closer, grimacing at the blood and trying to avoid it getting on her shoes. She bent down to look into the boy's face while Victoria did all the hard work of turning him around on her own. With a certain surprise the blonde noticed quite handsome features and open eyes. She jerked away, thinking that he was dead, but leaned down lower after Victoria confirmed the existence of a very weak pulse. With her keen and boy-trained eye, she could tell that he was about nineteen years old. "Hey, he's quite cute."

"Rebecca!" Victoria hissed, and would have said something more, but the injured youth whispered something incoherent. Then his eyes closed. The brunette girl glanced up at Rebecca who showed no signs of having noticed that, and stood up with firm resolution. "Jessa, stay here. You too, Becca," she ordered before running out of the alleyway.

"Hey, wait!" Rebecca spun around to stare after her, but Victoria was already gone. Shivering, she slowly turned her gaze back to the youth on the ground. It was growing darker by the second and every small sound made the blonde's hair rise on their ends. She cursed the situation and wished that they had taken a different route home, successfully forgetting that there was no other shorter way to get to where they lived.

Victoria had not a slightest idea of why she was doing what she was doing. Perhaps it was because Jessa never approached foreign people and always avoided those who were bleeding. The dog had gone through quite a few things before joining the small Lewes family and picked whom it would trust with thrice the scrutiny humans used in situations like those. Victoria was originally from a different part of Sydney, but she had fled from her home shortly after her mother's death. The girl had taken her little brother, Tobias, with her because the boy's father started drinking and they often had to lock themselves into the cramped Tobias' room to stay out of his way and trouble. She could not leave her half-brother in such obstacles.

As Victoria ran down the streets to a destination known only to her, she was forced to remember why she had picked this place to live in. No one cared about you here. She had lied about her age, about her family and who could remember what else. Not one person bothered to check whether it was valid or not. And because of that crimes and prostitution was still running high in this area, no matter what the government did to prevent it. The streets were more or less littered with some garbage, and no one ever bothered to clean it up. All of the houses looked similar – grey or with peeling paint, on the border of collapsing, and dirty. The brunette came to a halt in front of one such house. She rushed through the creaking entrance door and approached the apartment on the right side on first floor. Behind the brown door was living the family Fletcher. The second in age daughter Brenda Fletcher was sometimes working on the same shift with Victoria, but the girl had not come for her. It was Brenda's elder brother Patrick that the brunette was really after. He was an aspiring doctor at the age of thirty-five, working in the local medical centre.

"Brenda! Brenda, open up!" Victoria banged on the door to breach through the loud music blaring through the walls of the apartment. There was always music playing when Brenda was home. It took about five minutes for the door to open, and behind it, was Patrick. He was slightly swaying, his blonde hair was a dirty mess, his clothes were rumpled as if worn for a week and a heavy stench of alcohol washed over Victoria, but the girl was not in a state to heed it.

"B-bren's not home," the thirty-five-year-old doctor slurred, grey eyes glazed over and staring off into space. "Out with 'er boyfriend."

"Good. I need you. You've got a life to save." Victoria threw it out in one hurried breath, and paused to inhale deeply again. She needed to calm down, but hysteria was nearing.

"T-tory?" Patrick's eyes came into focus, enough to recognize the brunette. "Didn't ya hear? I got kick'd off th' job last week. Staff reduction, is." And he laughed humourlessly. "No'ne needs me," he stated with an askew smirk after he was done laughing.

_Last week? Had he been drinking since?_ At least that explained the mess that he was at the moment. Victoria desperately ran a hand through her short hair. For all she knew, the youth on the pavement might be dead already, and she was just wasting hers and others' time, but she was not willing to give up. "Where's your first-aid kit?" she inquired, centring her gaze on the swaying blonde in front of her.

"It's in the bathroom, child," an elderly voice stated behind the drunken doctor. It was Brenda's grandmother, and Victoria gave her a thankful smile. Even in her early eighties the old lady was quite lively. "I'll get it."

Mrs Fletcher returned in a matter of seconds, and pushed her grandson aside, slamming the door in his face. "Lead the way, child. I worked as a nurse, I'll be more of a help than Patrick could be when sober."

"But it's a long way and…"

"Nonsense, child," the old lady waved her hand dismissively. "If that person is to be saved, then we will." She smiled good-naturedly. "Oh, this youth! Always in a hurry."

Victoria was five seconds away from being a nervous wreck by the time they arrived at the place where she had left her dog and Rebecca. Upon seeing the wounded youth on the ground, Mrs Fletcher shook her head in disapproval. The youth looked seriously injured and in a dire need of an operation. _If Patrick would be in his senses, the guy would have a hope_. Nevertheless, the old lady kneeled down and instructed Victoria and Rebecca how to treat the most visible and serious wounds. Rebecca point-blank refused to even touch him, telling that the sight of blood made her sick. Since Victoria was left alone to handle it and the blonde female did not do anything but just stand there and shiver, the old lady instructed her to hold a flashlight above the lifeless body so that they could see what they were doing.

Yet unbeknownst to either Mrs Fletcher or Victoria, Patrick had followed them, taking his doctor's bag with him out of habit. The fresh night air had sobered him a little, and he almost strayed from the path the two females had taken. He arrived minutes later, following the faint shine of light in one of the alleys. Jessa signalled his approach with a low growl and inched closer to Victoria. Mrs Fletcher welcomed him with a harsh lecture, not interrupting to attend the wounds on the young male. Patrick took it all silently, knowing that each word was well deserved.

"Don't just stand there! Do something!" Mrs Fetcher ordered and reached for another bandage. They had treated barely one third of the injuries, and the blood flow was not stopping in the slightest even though the old nurse had injected a coagulant that was supposed to help.

After moments of surveillance, Patrick stated that the teen needed an operation.

"We don't have the money," Victoria retorted, angrily cutting off a piece of a bandage that was too long. They were running short on it, anyway, and could not afford the luxury of using generous amounts of it.

"I could do it for free, but they won't let me into the hospital. Actually, that's why they fired me."

Victoria glanced up at Dr Patrick, a forgotten bandage hanging loosely in her hand. "My apartment is just around the corner. If we could get him there… Could you do it?"

"If you could provide decent and sanitary conditions…" his voice trailed as he thought intently about such possibility. "I seem to have all my instruments with me," he indicated the briefcase-like bag in his hand, eyes never leaving the bleeding and probably dying teen on the ground, "so it might be worth a try."

Later asking herself, Victoria could not remember how they had managed to get the boy to her apartment. The only few bright flashes of her memories concerned her brother Tobias' pale and shocked face when he saw who was accompanying his big sister. Victoria remembered to have addressed him rather harshly, sent him to his room, and admonished to stay there. She had not spared a single thought about her brother and his thoughts and feelings at that time, being too preoccupied with someone else, someone who she did not even know. The next few minutes had been spent setting up something that reminded an operation table in the cramped bathroom, the only table of the apartment getting placed above the bathtub and covered with a clean sheet before the injured teen was positioned on top of it. Rebecca was simply pushed aside, sent to watch after Tobias, being of no real use in such a critical situation. Needless to say, she was even worse with kids.

That night, before the morning sun could breach through the darkness, Victoria learned how to perform artificial respiration and had to do it more than once. The sight in the bathroom was plain horrible. They had nothing resembling hospital's inventory, and the teen's life depended onto their handwork only. It was almost like returning back in time when technologies were not so highly developed and the life of the patient depended on his own will to survive and the skill of the doctor. Varon in this situation had neither. All they could do was treat the worst and most obvious wounds, like his broken nose and arm, but they were quite helpless when it came to internal bleeding.

Victoria was tending to a rather long and nasty-looking laceration on the boy's leg when he started coughing up blood and thrashing about. Her first reflex was to jerk away, but after Patrick's harsh command she moved to try and keep the youth down while the doctor injected something that was meant to calm him. Only seconds later, responding to the over-dose of medication, the boy's heart stopped. Mrs Fletcher was the one to notice this, and another struggle for his life ensued.

Meanwhile, Tobias was sitting in the corner of his room, hugging his knees to his chest and listening closely to the rush in the bathroom. The thin walls allowed the sounds to breach through, and for the boy the happening events seemed like hell on Earth.

"He should be brought to intensive care," Rebecca muttered, throwing herself back on the boy's bed. She was getting annoyed at being stuck here when she should be home. Not that her parents cared if she came or left. The blonde simply did not like her plans for the evening getting ruined, and she was completely oblivious to the presence of the little boy, being too caught up in her own thoughts. "I don't understand what the hell got into Vicca all of a sudden. Should've left that street rat die where he was."

Tobias blinked away the tears brimming in his soft brown eyes. He was quite scared at seeing so much blood. The most he had ever seen was when Victoria accidentally cut herself with a knife while preparing their meals. Jessa, feeling her master's distress, silently came up to him and lied down at his side, gently nudging the boy with her muzzle, but he remained oblivious to it. The boy had reverted back in time and was once again in a dark, cramped three-room apartment where air was thick with fumes of alcohol and forgotten wisps of smoke lingered in every little corner. His father was once again drunk, his mother had bruises once again, and Victoria was crying silently once again… And he… He did not know, did not understand what was going on. He had not had the slightest idea why his sister was so sad and his mother – so scared.

"If the bastard would just die already, I could go home." The blonde got up and strode over to the second room of this small apartment to take a look around for a telephone, but found none. "Great! How can I now tell Darren that our date is cancelled because some stupid vagrant just cannot die?" Rebecca kicked the leg of a nearby chair in frustration.

"Won't you shut up already?" Victoria asked tiredly, emerging from the bathroom. Rebecca cringed with disgust upon seeing all the blood on the other girl's clothes. Whiskey-coloured eyes narrowed suspiciously once the brunette youth could properly comprehend what was wrong with the picture. "I thought I told you to watch after Toby."

"Who the hell are you to order me around?" Rebecca flared up, all the annoyance and shock breaking down on her. "I want to go home, but I'm stuck in here with some psycho witchdoctors trying to revive some corpse! Screw you all, I'm sick of this!"

"Rebecca," Victoria grounded out, striding right towards her, "shut the hell up! If you don't like it, get out and go home. No one's keeping you here." Completely surprising the blonde, the dark-haired girl pushed right past her and walked out the door.

"Hey, wait! Where're you going?" Rebecca rushed after her. "I cannot walk home alone and you know it!"

Victoria paid no heed to the blonde as she ran down the stairs to the first floor and the only telephone in the entire building. While still on the way, she fished out some coins to dial the local emergency station. She knew that it was not smart… No. It was pure _insanity_ to rely on Patrick and his questionable skills as a doctor. The youth had come to a solution to get real help despite not having the money to pay for it. She would figure a way; she knew that she would. She just _had_ to. And she did not want to take the risk and have the boy having a third heart failure. In fact, this new desperate idea had originated just in that fact alone. While she dialled the ambulance, Rebecca had caught up with her and was now standing a few steps away and drilling her with a disbelieving gaze. Once the other girl hung up the phone, she proceeded to spill every last bit of her not so nice thoughts.

"Are you completely mad? How are you going to pay for it?"

"That's certainly my problem, and no concern of yours for sure." Victoria said. She made to go back upstairs, but Rebecca blocked her way.

"Just let him die and dump his body somewhere. Do you need more problems than you've already got? Look at me!" Rebecca commanded when Victoria avoided direct eye contact. The blonde could not stand to be ignored.

Warm whiskey eyes snapped up, instantly freezing over, and Victoria's voice came out just as cold and steady, "I'm not you, obviously. So don't make decisions for me." Since the other girl was still in her way, the brunette spun on her heel and headed outside to lean against the cool concrete wall and calm down a little. She still needed to stomach the recent events. Yet she had no luck in obtaining peace. Rebecca followed her like a vulture would follow a dying animal. Except that this one was not being quiet, but rattling worse than damaged shutters in a hurricane.

"Just go home," Victoria interrupted yet another mile-long rant, her ears starting to ring from the blonde's insisting voice.

"Are you mad? In this area? At this hour?"

"_God_. It's just three blocks down," Victoria growled in response, and the next moment a distant sound of sirens breached through the darkness. Victoria straightened and pushed herself away from the wall, eyes narrowing in a try to see through the darkness. _That was quick_. "Now you can just get lost. The sirens most likely scared all the criminals away." Soon the first lights hit the asphalt and ran across the walls as the emergency car took a turn around the corner. Usually it took more time for them to get to the site of the accident because some of their drivers could not be bothered to hurry no matter what.

After the car stopped in front of the building, waking the whole neighbourhood for sure, Victoria completely forgot about the existence of Rebecca. She rushed the paramedics to her apartment on the fifth floor, and then followed them to the hospital, leaving Mrs Fletcher to watch after Tobias. She really had no need (or rights for that matter) to do so, since she had no relation with the teen, but in the overall hurry no one took notice.

* * *

"You'll have to fill out a report." The nurse at the registration table handed Victoria a paper. She wrinkled her nose a bit at the sight of blood on the brunette's shirt. The jacket the girl wore on top of it could not cover up everything completely. Diana, as the metal pin on her lapel stated, suppressed a shudder. She was still unaccustomed to seeing blood, and was quite thankful that her job only consisted of paperwork. Lately she had been thinking on giving up the medical studies. "That way you can busy yourself while waiting." 

The brunette automatically took the paper, not really paying attention, her gaze repetitiously returning to the door behind which the boy had been rushed in. "How long?" She looked back at the nurse who now wore a mild frown, and elaborated, "How long does it take?"

"You mean the operation? It depends on the injuries. You might have to wait a few hours."

"Oh," Victoria's voice trailed and her eyes returned back to the menacing blue door at the end of the corridor.

"Look, just fill in the form. There's an example on the table over there." And with that the nurse returned to whatever it was that she was doing before the new patient had been brought in.

Victoria slowly crossed the hall, heading for the corner with randomly positioned chairs and a small coffee table in the middle. The friends and family of the patients were supposed to wait in that area, but not many of the patients had them. Not in this neighbourhood… The brunette glanced at the rubber plant in one corner and sighed. This place had a heavy air about it, and the hint of the different chemicals mixed into one created the patented hospital stench. It was not a sterile smell like in some others. Like, for example, in the one that her dying mother had been put in. This one held more of a laboratory aroma where something was brewed and exploded on a regular basis. She sat down, her eyes scanning over the mess of old magazines and newspapers on the table in a try to sort out where the example form could be. Not finding it, she methodically started cleaning up the table and bringing some order to it. Finally, she found the filled-in example form and set it aside. The nurse at the receptionist table took a short glance towards the brunette, shrugged at what she was doing, and carried on with filling the medical files of some patients. She really could not care less about the girl or whichever friend or relative of hers had been just brought in the emergency.

Victoria had spent no more than ten minutes cleaning up the table and now set to fill in the papers she had been given. Her own name and contact information were of no bother, but when it came to the part of the "patient"… That made her stop for quite a while. The brunette bit her lip, thinking of how safe could it be for her to fake that part of information. After all, she had no idea of who the boy was, what his name, age, or any of the other requests listed on the paper were. She shot a brief glance at the nurse, suddenly feeling afraid of being caught in her lies. After all, this was a hospital and not a landlord who did not bother to check the verity of the information given to him as long as he could collect rent. Feeling heat rush to her cheeks, the brunette fiddled with the pen in her hand before setting the tip to the paper and slowly drawing a shaky line. She berated herself and repeated the line with more determination, turning it into a capitalized letter N – the beginning of the word Nathan. With more resolve, she gave the boy her own last name, and judging by his appearance, made him her twin brother, birth date – seventeenth of August. That way she had fewer problems faking his Identity number. Feeling nervous all over, Victoria rechecked the information three times, comparing the example sheet with the one she had just filled in, stalling for as long as she could, and finally brought it over to the nurse.

The next few hours Victoria spent sitting in an uncomfortable green plastic chair, practically dying of a heavy mixture of boredom and worry. She could not call home to check on Toby, and no one had come out of the operation hall yet. A few more patients had been submitted to the emergency while she sat there. The thoughts of the faked information and whether someone would discover it returned from time to time to claw at her conscience. She felt tired beyond belief, suddenly no longer knowing why she was here in the first place. She should just leave, but… _They know where I live now_. The thought of faking her own contact information occurred only just now, but it was too late. _As all good thoughts_, she sighed heavily to herself and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her tired eyes. The lights were irritating them more and more as the time passed, and the flicker and continuous buzz coming from one halogen lamp from across the room was slowly starting to drive her up the wall. That, and the ticking of a white-framed clock above her head. She could not see which hour was it now, and she had no idea how long she was sitting there for completely no reason. The one thing she knew though was that currently the silence that she usually valued was not so welcomed anymore.

The appearance of a policeman startled Victoria, and she almost jumped up to her feet - icy horror filling her. _Did they already know?_ As her eyes followed the uniformed man with alarm that she desperately tried to hide, her heart went into near overdrive from all the panic. But the officer did not even acknowledge Victoria's presence. He had merely come to retrieve some papers and to get updated information about something. The ringing in Victoria's ears did not let her to understand what the man was discussing with the nurse at the registration table, and luckily for her strained nerves, her full attention got directed elsewhere in the next moment.

The door to the operation hall opened and a tired-looking doctor came out, and glanced around the hall, searching for something. He briefly stopped by the registration table. Then he proceeded to approach Victoria. The brunette jumped up to her feet; worry splashed over her features. The policeman took a brief, uninterested look at her, and completely forgot about her existence in the next moment, returning to flirt with Diana.

"Miss… Lewes, I presume?" The doctor checked the information on the paper he was holding and gave Victoria a weary smile. "It's better if you sit down." And the doctor followed his own advice and sunk in one of the battered green chairs, offering the girl an apologetic grimace. "I apologize for my lack of manners, but it's been a long day for me."

Victoria silently sat back down, watching the doctor with caution. Her voice was temporarily gone, and even trying she could not force her vocal cords to obey her at the moment.

The doctor – Jason Morgan, as his ID card stated – took his time scanning over the information on the tablet, for one moment completely forgetting about the worried person opposite him. His dyed black hair shone dully in the fluorescent white light, only emphasizing the wrinkles and weariness forty-nine years and his stressful work had left on his face. Finally, brown eyes glanced up at the nervous teen. "Is…" he glanced back down at the paper, "…Nathan… your brother?"

Seconds silently ticked by, warm whiskey eyes not even blinking in response to the steady brown gaze. Finally Victoria gave a slight confirming nod, hoping that the doctor would not be able to tell that she was lying.

The doctor inclined his head thoughtfully, glancing past the girl at the wall as if considering something, then looked back at her. "Your brother was seriously injured, and the operation was heavy. We lost him quite a few times back there."

Victoria's eyes widened in alarm. "Did he…" she could not force herself to finish that sentence.

"He is resting now, still under the influence of drugs, but whether everything will be fine we shall see in time." _For a sister_, the doctor thought to himself, _she is too calm_. Then again, he had seen many weird family relationships while working in this corner of Sydney, and this certainly was not the worst of them. "Do you know how it happened?"

Victoria shook her head in a negative. "Might have encountered some of the gangs of the neighbourhood. We have a lot of them," she said silently, casting her eyes down to the floor as if in regret. Part of his injuries might have come from Patrick's attempt to save the boy's life. Once again the brunette cursed herself for getting that asinine idea and endangering someone's life by trusting an obviously unskilled doctor.

The doctor made a noncommittal sound as if agreeing with her words, but Victoria did not hear it. Silently, Doctor Morgan was waiting for the logical request to see the injured youth, which was so usual for family members, but it did not follow. None of his thoughts displayed on his face, he finally offered it to the girl himself, "You can go see him now."

"I…" Victoria started, eyes snapping back up. Just in time she remembered to play along her own pretend game. "May I?"

"Yes. Perhaps it is better if someone of his family stays with him, since," the doctor sighed silently, "since there's a fair chance he might not make it to tomorrow morning."

"But… but you said…" the brunette's voice trailed.

"Your brother has five broken ribs, two fractures in his right arm, several broken fingers on his left hand, a broken nose, a dislocated ankle, inner bleeding, and traumatized backbone. We took care of it all the best we could, but he's lost a lot of blood. Despite the transfusion we already did, he might need a second one. Especially if the situation doesn't change by the morning." Dr Morgan thought that the truth was always better than empty promises, and that the relatives deserved to know the entire thing and the exact condition of the patient to not give them vain hopes.

Victoria absorbed all the information in silence. She had heard (once again thanks to Rebecca) of the people who died because of inner bleeding. Mainly that happened because no one could detect the real problem, and when they finally understood what was wrong, it was already too late to do anything. However, the part that most concerned her was about his injured backbone. "What does all this mean?"

"There is a fair chance that your brother might not be able to walk, but we won't know anything until he wakes up. In fact, the young man will be lucky if he doesn't slip into a coma."

"Coma?" Rebecca's tales of comatose people that could lie dead-like for years and never wake up resurfaced. Inwardly, Victoria scowled at herself. _I really should stop listening to Becca_. _It's affecting me too much_. Yet the prospect of the injured youth not being able to walk anymore was quite frightening.

"We won't know anything until tomorrow. This is going to be a long night for all of us." After a moment of silence the doctor stood up. "I'll take you to his room now if…" he paused, looking for any reaction from the girl. The brunette stood hastily, and Dr. Morgan decided not to finish the sentence. It was not his business, anyway.

Victoria barely noticed the way through one hall and then another, her mind preoccupied with something else. As they passed the sign "Intensive Care," the youth suppressed a shudder. She hated hospitals because one had taken her mother away from her. Of course, she understood that it was rather childish to think that, but that one association had stuck in her mind and did not want to wane. She barely noticed the number of the room to which she was led, just as she did not hear what the doctor said to her. Slowly she walked into the room, eyes travelling over all the gadgetry present, the random wires for who knows what purpose, and all the other things that forced some distant memories resurface. It was almost like the room with her mother; it could easily pass for its copy right down to the tiniest detail.

_I need to sit down_, was the only coherent thought in Victoria's mind. She made her way towards the only chair in the room and slowly sunk down on it, brown eyes following her every motion.

The doctor frowned. Perhaps he had been wrong after all. Perhaps the girl had only been in shock, unable to react in any way, and now it was slowly wearing off - the full comprehension of the situation sinking in. Different people went through it differently, so he should not even be surprised. Doctor Morgan was interrupted from any further contemplation as a request for his presence in the operation hall was announced through the hospital intercom. He left, letting the door fall shut with a silent thump.

Victoria looked at the bed, her eyes seeing a different picture than the reality presented.

_Curly brown hair fanned out on a white pillow, pale face with darting whiskey eyes and dark shadows under them, weak arms reaching out to hug her two children, one of which was barely four years old and did not understand much of what was going on. Toby handing a slightly crumpled paper to their mother – a childish, colourful drawing of their family all together and happy, and mother's soft smile as she struggled to not let them know in how much pain she actually was in. Silent, non-beeping machines indicating how her life slowly drained away, wires in her arms, and tiredness in her eyes. No matter what the doctors did, no matter how Victoria begged for her mother to not leave them – everything was irrelevant._

Victoria rubbed her face with both hands as if trying to wipe the memory away. This was why she did not like hospitals – the old memories resurfaced with new strength and she was forced to go through it all for one more time, reliving the pain of loss and the emptiness that settled in after that. The brunette dared herself to look up at the bed and the person lying on it just across from her. It was not her mother; that was the past. She had to get over it, and this day was as good as any other. Her eyes slowly travelled over the young man attached to devices whose names she did not know and did not care to find out. There were no beeping sounds coming from them so the room was drowned in silence that jarred her ears. The feeling she got from looking at this foreign male, realizing that she did not even know him yet was sitting by his bed as if he were a relative or a close friend, was more than just surreal. She did not know why she was still here, why she did not get up and leave as anyone else would have done long ago. Something seemed to keep her here, forbidding from walking away like she had done so many times before for so many different reasons and in so many different situations. Subconsciously she knew of the trouble she could get in if the police was to start investigation and if it turned out that this person was involved in some crime. There were too many such "ifs," but Victoria still stayed. Right now, there was nothing else that she could do but to remain where she was, watching over him until the morning came. Then… Then she would think what to do next.

* * *

The morning came slowly that day. A few green rays of light crossed the clear blue sky before the orange disc of sun peeked above the horizon. The ascent was agonizingly slow at first, but the more of the sun became visible, the quicker it seemed to go. The bright light reflected in the windows of the high buildings clustered around the considerably smaller hospital, bathing in the glory of its blinding shine. On days like these, when the world seems happy and cheerful, there are many people who wish that it would be a grim, rainy day instead. 

When Victoria walked out of the hospital, she had to flinch from the bright light outside. Once again, everything felt surreal, reminding her more of a dream than reality. Her mind was hazy from the lack of sleep, and she did not properly register what her feet were stepping onto. She did her best to not fall asleep or pass out from all the tiredness that had appeared during the night, and a few blocks down the amount of light took its toll on her, waking her up just a little. She was aware of getting odd looks, and vaguely remembered that she wore a bloodstained shirt. The brunette pulled her jacket closer to her body, trying to shield the blood from the view, and picked up the pace. The haze in her head did not want to go away no matter how long she walked, passing from a shadow of one house back into the sunlight only to be swallowed by the shadow of the next building moments later.

Victoria was going home now, but she knew that she would return to the hospital later. Now there was no turning back, especially after it turned out that her blood type matched the foreigner's. She was going to continue her game until the youth woke up. Now she could only hope that it would not happen in her absence. Also she had to return to somehow pay for his stay there. Overcoming the disgust she had for hospitals, the brunette had talked to the head doctor and he had considered letting the girl work in the hospital. Victoria was able to cover only half of the sum right now, and the other half would be calculated according to her work. In a way, it was a relief when she learned that she only needed to work off for the days the boy spent in the hospital. This, in turn, meant that she would have to find him a place to stay right after he was allowed to leave the hospital. The only logical choice was her own apartment, since he was her "brother Nathan."

Taking the stairs up to her apartment, Victoria sighed. Her work in the hospital started this evening and would continue for as long as the injured youth would stay in there. She realized that this way she was going to lose her work in the store, but something had to go. For some time, she had considered telling her current boss that she was ill in hopes that it would help her to keep the job after all the trouble was over, but that thought vanished soon. Most likely her boss would fire her and hire someone else in her place. A job was something you could not get easily in this area even though it seemed like there were a lot of vacancies.

Silently, the brunette unlocked the door and walked inside her small apartment. The first thing to greet her was her dog, Jessa, and the brunette took her time scratching her behind the ears. Taking off her jacket, she glanced into the larger of the rooms to see Mrs. Fletcher asleep in the old grey armchair. Victoria gently laid her hand on her shoulder to wake her, and the elderly lady jerked awake. She blinked in confusion at first, but then smiled faintly and slowly got up, heading for the door.

"I don't even know how to thank you for watching over my brother, Mrs Fletcher," Victoria said in a hushed voice once they were in the small entrance corridor.

"Nonsense, child," Mrs Fletcher answered just as silently, aware not to wake the still sleeping Tobias. "My grandchildren are all grown up and I have nothing better to do but watch the television all day. Watching after Tobias was a relief."

Victoria thanked the old lady once more and locked the door behind her. She made her way to the bathroom, taking notice that it had been cleaned, and discarded the dirty shirt. After taking a cold shower (since it was only Wednesday and hot water you could get only on Saturdays), she fished a clean blue T-shirt and her black home shorts out of the everyday clothing's bag that she used instead of drawers. Just as she walked back into the living room (and her bedroom, too), Tobias appeared in the doorway of his small room, rubbing his sleepy eyes. Upon seeing his sister, his face slightly brightened and he ran towards her.

"Tory!"

Victoria staggered back a few steps from the impact when the boy threw himself at her, clinging to his sister for dear life. Smiling, she reached out to ruffle his messy brick-red hair. "Hey." The brunette frowned, feeling his small body shaking and gently pried him off of her to take a look at his face. His head was down and she could not see the expression on it. The girl squatted down to come in one eye level with him. "Toby? What's wrong?"

The boy glanced at his older sister, eyes blurred with tears. He was struggling to keep them at bay though. "I thought you left. Like mommy."

It took some time for Victoria's sleep-deprived mind to understand the meaning of those words. In a flash, she picked up her brother and walked over to the couch, and sat down with Toby in her lap. She gently brushed the messy locks away from his tear-filled eyes, ignoring the liquid that streamed down his pale cheeks. "Toby," she started firmly, but with enough care to not scare the boy, "don't you remember what I told you before we left our old home? I promised to never leave you, and I won't."

The boy flooded into audible sobs and hid his face against his sister's shoulder, clinging to her as if never wanting to let go. Golden eyes of a Belgian Shepherd intently followed the scene, shining with a hint of animalistic understanding.

"Shh. I'm here. It's all right now." Victoria whispered in Toby's hair, holding him close. She could understand what he was going through, but she could never prevent things like those from happening. Even though he was nine years old, he needed a mother. Yet all he could ever have was a sister. She was always there for him, but… _Who will be there for me when I need it?_

The tears dried out after some time, and Toby rubbed his eyes with his fists. By that time Victoria was only partially awake. Toby glanced up at his sister with serious brown eyes, and she responded with a warm, albeit weak smile. Both siblings yawned almost simultaneously, and it brought an askew smirk on the girl's face.

"Are you sleepy?" Toby asked.

"Yup."

"Can I stay with you?"

Victoria smiled, knowing that it was just a reaction to her long absence mixed with the exhaustion from crying. "Only if you help me to set up the bed."

"Yay!" In a flash, Toby was up to his feet, almost stepping on Jessa who moved aside just in time to save her tail from getting trampled. Victoria fought with herself to not snap at her brother for being more careful, but decided against it. Toby had had enough to deal with already even without her adding more to it. Instead, she just rubbed Jessa's head apologetically and went to stretch out the couch. With Toby's help, and despite Jessa's occasional interference the bed was ready in a matter of seconds, and the tired brunette slipped under the covers with a happy sigh.

Toby crawled over to her and shuffled close for comfort in her arms. "G'night, Tory," the boy mumbled against the pillow in which he had buried his face. His world was slowly coming back to order since his big sister was no longer gone.

"More like morning," Victoria muttered sleepily. Just moments later she felt the weight on the bed shift as someone else got in. "Jessa, get out!" the brunette girl admonished as harshly as a practically asleep person can manage.

Needless to say, the dog would not even budge. Jessa laid down right next to Toby, getting herself comfortable.

"'et 'er 'tay," Toby mumbled in the pillow, making Victoria sigh with exasperation.

The brunette really did not feel like getting up and chasing the dog off the bed by force. Another sigh… _Manipulative little brothers_. "Whateva'."

After that, the small apartment was bathed in silence.

* * *

Varon was dreaming. He knew this feeling could not be anything else, but still it made little sense to him. Everything was white and infinite for as far as his eyes could see. No perspective existed in this place, no shadows to indicate any shifting of the surface, no sense of time or direction. It felt as if he was floating in water and in the same time as if he was standing on stable ground – a feeling unlike anything he had experienced so far. It was quite frightening, in a way. And yet it was not because what Varon felt was complete indifference. There was nothing that would make him feel human, and at times he doubted that he had ever been one. Thoughts came and left on their own accord, but never stayed long enough for him to acknowledge them. Though sometimes he could hear voices that reminded him of something that he seemed to have forgotten, and some of those voices were inexplicably familiar, but the moment he was about to remember and name them, the words slipped from his mind and everything went still again. It seemed as though past, present, and future would co-exist all at the same time in this place, and as if the Universe had suddenly frozen and paused. Yet somehow it seemed as though Varon could feel the infinity stretching and evolving, pulsating all around him, all over him, through him. The feeling was very close to the out-of-body experience he had had while his soul was ripped from his body and he was trapped in a space where everything seemed to start and end at the same time, at the same place; nothing moved, nothing changed and yet nothing stayed the same. 

At the rare and precious moments when his mind regained its original sharpness, he remembered who he was, but not why he was in this place of endless white. And at those moments, when he felt most human, he wondered if he was still inside the Great Beast. The feeling was very similar, although nothing seemed to keep him trapped in this place like it had been back then, back there. He was free to go any minute he desired; yet, for some reason, he could not leave. He had tried to return once, twice, perhaps thrice… but failed. Now, he was ready to try again while this awareness lasted - while he knew who he was. Gathering all the will and resolve that he still had left, he tried to reach past the border, to return to his body and become who he was once again. It was quite tiring to be without the knowledge of who he truly was, without his memories. After all, he did not belong in that white, infinite space.

His eyelids felt heavy as if someone had piled a ton of bricks over them, and it was a great struggle to force them open. First five attempts failed, but the sixth was slightly better even though he had to immediately shut his eyes again to escape the abusing bright light that stung his eyes like razors. _It is strange_, Varon pondered, _that it hurts so much to bear this light_. The one in that white place had been three times brighter, yet it had not caused him this kind of suffering. The brunette tried to crack his eyes open again, and this time got the eyelids farther apart than the previous time. It took a few seconds to realize that something was blocking the bright light from his vision – there was a dark shadow hovering over him. The blurry shape was speaking too, but he could not catch the words. He strained to hear them, but the effort of opening his eyes had drained the young man too much and he gladly submitted to the darkness. This time he did not return to the infinite white place. This time there was only infinite darkness all over him, all around him, within him. Yet this darkness brought peace instead of terror.

The next time Varon resurfaced to consciousness, he stayed lingering in that half-asleep state when one can hear everything that's going on around him yet all of it is still fused within a dream. He heard distant voices and sounds, subconsciously smelled the chemical-filled air, yet could tell none of it apart from the fragile and transparent dream that he was having.

In that dream, there were figures facing away from him, walking away from him. No… They were stock still, unmoving. It was Varon himself who was running towards them, trying to reach out to them, trying to see their faces and remember... Remember something very important, something that should never be forgotten, but which was slipping further and further away from his memory with every step that he took, as each step carried him further and further away from those figures. They were slipping away, disappearing into that light that was pouring from a source unknown, source invisible. Surely, light could not exist without a certain source, but this one did. It came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. And then the figures were gone, and he was all alone again.

Varon wondered why did it hurt so much to even open his eyes. The light was highly offending, and even the smallest ray sent an echoing pain through his temples. _It could not be good, could it?_ The brunette struggled to keep his eyelids apart, but the light was too much for him to handle, and so he let them close again. In the faint darkness he could rest a bit despite the offending brightness from outside sources making him to flinch. It was like lying under a desert sun, not that he had ever done such a thing… Or had he? Varon tried to frown, forcing himself to remember, but that simple movement of facial muscles sent a new flash of pain through his head, and he had to give up the efforts. _Why did it hurt so much? _When the youth tried to remember the reason or the cause of this pain, he discovered a major blank spot in his memory. He could not remember what has brought this pain about. _Strange_… He was not the one who kept on disappearing in his memories to the point of forgetting where he was at the moment. No, no. His memory had always been sharp. There was someone else who had that annoying habit of spacing out, someone who he knew quite well, but who he could not remember at the moment. _Strange_… Thinking was an exhausting thing, as the brunette came to discover a few seconds before drifting back into oblivion.

Varon had no idea how much time had passed between those constant small awakenings and periods of complete darkness. One thing that he knew for sure was the lack of his memories. With each resurfacing to consciousness, he discovered more and more things that should be in his mind, but which were not, and the harder he tried to remember, the further and further away they slipped from him. He had not tried to open his eyes in quite a while, and since he felt nothing too offensive on his face, he decided to risk a sneak peak at his surroundings. His eyes slowly opened, blinked, and stared off into darkness. _Am I blind?_ It was a frightening thought, but it was firmly stuck in his mind. So, not only did he not remember, he was also blind on top of it all.

"Are you awake now?" a soft voice coming from somewhere next to him asked. But as gentle and quiet as it was, it still hurt his ears, ringing through his head loudly and painfully. Varon turned his head towards the source of the sound and caught a flicker of something green in the process.

"Can you hear me?" A hint of concern had sipped in that voice, but the youth on the hospital stretcher was completely absorbed in staring at the blurry green digits and lines that shone through the darkness with a faint glow.

The scene was familiar, as was the glow, but he could not remember why it was so. _This place was_…

"You're in a hospital," the same voice continued, the sounds still abusing the brunette's hearing, but not as much as it had before.

_Hospital…_ he repeated in his thoughts. _Right_. That was why the place seemed so familiar – he had seen it on TV quite a few times, back then never thinking that he could or ever would wind up as a _part_ of such a scene. Strange, how the things sometimes work out.

"Would you like me to turn the light on?"

_Light?_ No, he did not want the light turned on. It would only hurt his eyes again. But when he tried to say something, his voice failed. Not a sound escaped his throat, not even the smallest one. Varon heard a very faint shuffle of clothes, and with a soft _click_ a dim yellow light flooded the room, making him flinch. The pain returned to his eyes, but not as intense as it had been before. Still, he felt blinded. It took time to adjust, and even after he had recovered and gotten accustomed, the figure leaning over him was slightly blurred.

"Hi."

The person was probably smiling, that much Varon could deduce from the tone of the voice. And it was a female.

"I'm Victoria. I've been watching over you for quite some time now."

Varon wanted to contradict, saying that he was not a child and did not need anyone "watching over" him in any way or form. He could take care of himself. He had _always_ taken care of himself. Yet those angry and frustrated words never left his lips, no matter how hard he forced himself to pronounce them. In the overall confusion the brunette did not even notice how his eyes closed again and how his mind retreated back into the darkness of dreamless sleep.

* * *

It might have been an early morning. _Or_… or perhaps a late evening. All the lights were out save for the green light coming from the working devices next to his bed. He was awake again, and this time for real. This time he was not going to drift back off to sleep so easily. He wondered at the slight feeling of pain that he felt all over his body. _Or was it an itch?_ He could not quite distinguish which one, but it did not matter as he was more concerned about the things he could not remember. His mind was almost a blank. Of course, as Varon discovered upon testing his mental capability, he could still solve some quite simple math problems (at least how far his poor education in that area was concerned) and knew some basic overall things that every human does, but his identity, his memories, everything that made him an individual, were all lost. Then he wondered whether that was because his past was better off forgotten, whether it was too horrible to remember, and whether he wanted to remember it at all. At other times though, an inexplicable fear seized him, and he was afraid of what his mind was concealing, afraid that he would never remember himself again. Today was the latter occasion. 

As he lay there in the darkness of the hospital room and listened to rare footsteps passing by his door and fading away further down the corridor, thin icy tentacles of fear were crawling all under his skin, tapping against his heart, and drilling deeper in his brain. He was all alone in this isolated room, and even though he knew that there were other people behind the walls, he felt like he was the only living person in the entire universe. There was no one else who knew him, who could tell him who he was, what his life had been like, whether there was someone who missed him or who would cry if he never came back. And there was this small voice at the back of his head claiming that the answer to those questions was a "no." He was all alone, and he knew it. Someway, some_how_ he knew that he was all alone, that there was no one else in this world to care for him. It was frightening to know that without having memories to back it up with.

The darkness of his room was quite pressing, and Varon was slowly discovering that he detested being alone like this. He wanted at least one more person to be there, near him, to have someone else to share his thoughts and feelings with. But then again – he did not know what he felt, he could not recognize the emotions overflowing him. The world seemed so big and frightening, and definitely confusing now that he could not remember his own identity. He wanted to remember. _By gods, yes_! But he could not even though the doctor claimed that his memories would eventually return to him, that this state of amnesia was only a temporary thing. It had been three days since he completely regained consciousness, and the amount of news he had been cluttered with was befuddling to say the least. On the very first day he had learnt from Doctor Morgan that he was Nathan Lewes and that he had a sister, and from said sister that she, in fact, was just a fraud that knew nothing about him, and his first name was made up. Still being quite confused from the overdose of medicine that had supported his life for a week and a bit, he had agreed to play along with the girl's game. After all, she was working in the hospital to pay for his stay there and the treatment he had received. It was a bit of a surprise to learn that the hospital did not do it for free. He had been under the impression that the emergency cases were attended regardless of the social status of the injured, but he learnt otherwise when the girl, Victoria, told him about the situation in this particular area of Sydney – the heads of the government (or maybe the main hospital – he had not understood that part all too well) had found a better way of investing their money than directing it to such small emergency stations that were located in especially dangerous areas with ever-decreasing numbers of possible patients. In this neighbourhood people more often turned up dead than in a need for a hospital or with a chance for survival.

Varon remembered that, according to Victoria, he would be allowed to leave the hospital any day now. It was not that he was completely healed, but the mandatory days had passed and he was getting better quite quickly, therefore the doctor saw no point in keeping him there for any longer. Also, he was only taking up a room in the Intensive Care section, and there were others that needed it more than he did. Of course, wandering the streets again in his condition was as good as a death wish, but his pseudo-sister had stared at him as if he was touched in the head more than just with amnesia when he had voiced out that thought. She had to remind him that he was playing her brother and therefore would be brought back to her apartment to make the play-pretend believable. Still, the brunette felt somewhat uncomfortable so blatantly accepting help from someone who he did not even know. The mention of police had cleared his mind a lot though, and now he could not wait to get out of the all-too familiar four walls of his room in this hospital. "Nathan" was quite surprised that someone was willing to risk getting in trouble with the police in case if he turned out to be a criminal. Victoria had backed it up with having nothing to lose, and somehow he had been able to relate to it.

Tomorrow was the day when he was supposed to leave the hospital, and "Nathan" could barely wait for the moment when he would be out of this building. He tried to occupy his mind with something to pass the time, and for the hundredth time that day went through the facts Victoria had given him about his supposed life. He knew that she… _they_ had a younger brother, Tobias, and a dog. Once more he tried to imagine them according to the descriptions Victoria had given him, and it helped for a little while. He had refused the medicine earlier and now could not fall asleep as there were flashes of pain here and there and his skin itched under the bandages. Something told him that this would be a long night, and he was not mistaken.

When the morning arrived, he was dying to get out of the hospital, but he also felt weak and sleep-deprived. When he was helped to sit up and moved into a wheelchair, a bright flash of pain ran through his head and a strong sense of nausea bolted up to the end of his throat. Involuntary tears sprung to his eyes, and he did his best to hide them. Varon was ashamed of showing his weakness to others, and it did not matter that he was in no condition to put up the brave and invincible act. The ride back to "their" apartment he spent in a drifting haze, and he later could barely remember how he had been brought up to the fifth floor and the blurry face of a dark-haired kid that had opened the door for them. He had shamelessly passed out soon after that, his battered and bruised body still incapable of taking so much stress only two weeks after the accident. Two weeks was too little time to get back into previous shape and broken bones took two months as a minimum to mend properly and take the normal kind of abuse humans provided when moving.

The following weeks provided a lot of amusement for both "Nathan" and the Lewes siblings. Slowly, very slowly, Varon was getting used to having no memories of his past, and all thanks to Tobias who provided him with enough distractions at the weirdest moments, Jessa could be blamed in all of the mishaps they managed to pull off, and Victoria who, as it turned out, was a typical older sister and treated Varon as if he were no older than Toby in the moments when the both of them chose to act immature. The brunette teen was gaining new memories with each passing day, and the loss of the old ones started to seem less and less important because, for the first time since he had awakened with no memories, Varon felt at home. No matter how strange it might appear, but he really had the feeling of belonging in that cramped two-room flat and with those two siblings. _And the dog, of course_… The first time the brunette realized that he thought of Victoria and Toby as siblings was quite shocking, and he was still not used to that thought and that feeling, but in a way it seemed right. He had also thought that he was no good with children. Varon guessed it was something from his past that made him feel that way, letting him know things that he actually did not know. There were many such little moments when he could all of a sudden tell what he had once liked and whatnot. For example, that his favourite colour was warm yellow, that he preferred motorcycles over cars, and that the only way he would eat pickles was when they were a part of a spicy pizza. Such small, seemingly unimportant bits would come back to him in the strangest moments, triggered by something he heard, saw, or smelled. What mattered Tobias – he was a very easygoing kid, smarter than his nine years of age would make one believe. Varon discovered that he could understand him unlike any other kid that he had met so far (not that there were many). Of course, he had a lot of time to listen to the boy, now that he was in the process of recovery and Victoria had put a taboo on a lot of things that he could do. This included an old set of video games that Toby was often playing on the black and white TV that practically screamed for repair. It was one of the few ways of passing time since the lack of money and much needed school items did not allow him to go to school. But Varon, lying on the couch and getting better provided the kid with company.

It was yet another one of those days when Varon was supposed to be resting, but Tobias had snuck out of his room while Victoria was out for shopping. Currently the boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing one of the Super Mario Brothers games. He appeared to be completely lost in the game when all of a sudden the boy spoke, startling Varon from the observation of the flickering screen.

"You're lucky."

"Huh? What?" Varon frowned.

"Not remembering your past. I wish I could just wipe it out of my mind like that."

The silence in the room jarred Varon's ears, and the deformed sounds from the TV did not improve the situation much. It was a shock to him that the little boy thought of his amnesia that way. He frowned. "Why?"

Tobias was silent for a long time, his fingers moving over the console, the Mario on the screen smashing some strange looking creature. The boy shrugged. "All the crap from your past just… disappears. And you can just start all over again. Something new. Don't have to remember the shit you've had. I'd like that."

Varon's mouth fell open in shock. Never before had the boy talked like this, never before had he sounded so much older than he really was. Though the kid's choice of words was less shocking than the idea behind them. The brunette could hardly believe that someone considered him lucky only because he did not remember his past. Of course, he presumed that there might be people who would gladly forget certain things that they have gone through, but he had never expected a nine-year-old to have such thought.

"Here," Toby handed him the control. "You can finish the game."

Varon watched the dark-haired boy retreat to his room before his eyes turned back to the TV screen. Some weird crab and mushroom hybrid smashed into Mario, bringing the _Game Over_ sign onto the screen, but cerulean eyes were looking right through the old TV set, seeing something that only their owner was aware of. Slowly, very slowly a smirk crept onto Varon's lips.

"Something new, eh?" A spark flashed through the brunette's eyes and he picked up the control to start a new game. "Got it, kid."

* * *

_**A/N:** Part three is in making, please gather your patience. I can't promise an exact date right now, but I'll try to make it faster than this one. And not as long, too._


	3. Something Borrowed

**Full Title: **_**Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue.**_ I had to shorten it because of the limited character count in the title bar.

**A/N: **This is the edited version. Many thanks to my amazing beta!

**Warnings:** Some mild violence, nothing too graphic.

**Disclaimer: **Kazuki Takahashi owns it all and I'm making no money out of this.

* * *

**Part 3 – Something Borrowed**

Bright sun was shining down upon the earth and its inhabitants on the day when he stopped right in front of his old home. Soft breeze rustled the leafage of the century old trees beneath which he was standing, his solemn gaze slowly travelling all over the old, decrepit house. Ghostly images were swimming in front of his vision, echoing whispers glided just within an earshot, almost there, but not quite so – all the people from his past whom he had loved very much. The bygone days seemed to be so very close, as if all he needed to do was to take just one step and he would once again be there –surrounded by people who loved him just as much, who cared for him just as much, and who would give and do anything for him. It had been a happy life, back then...

Until one day it ceased to exist...

Now, faint cerulean eyes were gazing at a broken-down house, once his home, now – merely a place for ghosts of old, dear memories. In his mind, they were all still there – Sonia, Julian, their parents. So happy, so careless as if nothing could ever ruin this heavenly idyll...

Ghosts of his past were all around him, whispering inaudible words, lingering nearby and weighing him down with their presence, making him wonder whether all of it had been a mere dream. Had it ever existed? Had it all been real once? Had he lived in a dream? Or did he need to wake up from _this_ dream to be reunited with them again?

* * *

_"Look, brother! I've got a kitty!" Sonia chirped happily, holding up a brick-red, brown-striped cat. The animal was dirty and quite wild-looking, but in the little girl's arms he behaved so well as though it had been cuddled and petted all its life._

_"Where did you find it?" Raphael blinked at the animal in confusion before outstretching his arm to pet the feline. The cat let out a loud, contented purr and tried to claw at his hand in a – as it seemed to Raphael – attempt to win his friendship._

_"Down the street behind Pierre's Bakery." The little girl cooed soft words to the feline, cradling it in her arms as if it were the greatest treasure of the world. Her dress was covered with random stains, but she paid no heed to that. Her world had narrowed down to the fragile life in her hands._

_Raphael frowned. They were not allowed to wander outside the garden on their own. If their mother or father were to find out, they could get in trouble. "What were you doing there alone?"_

_"I wasn't alone. Julian was there, too." Sonia looked so innocent as if she were an angel lowered down to Earth from Above, and she came rather close to that image with her summer-sky-blue eyes and golden locks that framed a perfect porcelain face._

* * *

_"I hit it!" Julian announced happily, lowering the self-made bow. It was just a piece of a flexible branch slightly bent and its ends tied together with a piece of an old cord. They had only three arrows each, and therefore only three tries to hit a chosen apple dangling at the end of a branch._

_"That was unbelievable," Raphael confessed, picking up the apple in which a self-made arrow had found its place of rest, and inspected it. Instead of hitting the stem, the arrow had embedded itself within the apple, but it still counted as a hit. "You hit it with the second try on your first time."_

_"Yup!" Julian nodded energetically, soft cinnamon locks flailing around. His cerulean eyes were full of sparkling joy. "Now we can compete to see who's better."_

_"All right." Raphael pulled out the arrow and handed it back to his brother before picking up his own bow. "Let's try with that one over there."_

* * *

_It was cold and rainy outside, the fierce wind throwing raindrops against the windows, but inside the house it was warm and safe. Mother was sitting in front of the piano, Sonia at her side, and they were playing a light melody four-handed, their gentle voices entwining to create a wonderful symphony. Even though Sonia's little fingers hit a wrong key every so often, it did not take away a single thing from the charm of the evening._

_Raphael and Julian were sitting side by side on the couch opposite the piano. Several steps behind them their father was leaning against the side of the fireplace, keeping half an eye on the warm flickering flames, the rest of his attention concentrated on the two most loved women of his life._

_"…your home is where your heart lies. Do not fear the stormy skies! The clouds will quickly fade away, and sun will come to warm the day. You've gone so far away from home, you wander unknown paths alone, but I'm still here to you unknown. And one day you will realize, that I am where your heart lies..."_

* * *

The memories were faded and strangely distorted, and quite likely no where near reality, but what little moments he could recall, Raphael held dear. The fights he had had with his siblings, all the times he had been punished instead of his brother or blamed for breaking something his sister had broken were pushed away to the farthest recesses of his mind. The longing for his lost family allowed him to recall moments that had been lost in the long years, that had not even been of particular importance. Now even the tiniest remembrance had a bittersweet feeling to it. Suddenly even the smallest things he had done together with his siblings mattered more than ever before.

Raphael sighed softly to himself and stepped out from the shadows of the oaks and into the sunlight, finally gathering the much-needed courage to approach the house. So many memories had haunted him on the way here, and now everything suddenly fell silent. A new reality was taking up their place, all the things he was seeing now worked to further harden him. Memories and reality overlapped, leaving a bittersweet taste at the end of his throat. There was nothing left from the place he once called his home. Nothing... Nothing but an empty carcass.

Part of him had desired to see this place exactly as it was the last time he saw it, and another part was anxious to see what it had turned into right now. He did not want to enter the house, he did not want to see the safe haven of his childhood lying in ruins, nor did he want to face what he had lost. And at the same time he wanted to see it all. To see and make sure which one of these two realities was the genuine one. Which one was the beautiful dream he never wanted to wake up from, and which – the nightmare he needed to escape, to wake up from and forget forever.

Raphael remembered that, after losing his soul, for one desperate second he had wished to stay with his family. He had wished that the Pharaoh would not win, just so he could stay with his parents and his siblings. He had been stripped of his family at the age of twelve, ripped away from all that was familiar and thrown into a reality he was not ready for.

Was it not only human to wish to be once again reunited with his loved ones and never part with them again?

On his way home, he had acquired himself a new mantra. With each step he had taken, he had softly chanted to himself, _Please, be okay. Please, be okay._ Like a parent looking for his lost child. _Please, be okay_. His most treasured memories, almost vanished from his mind, yet he tried to recall them in full colour, wishing to make them real again. Perhaps, if he tried hard enough, all the things and people he had valued so much would still be alive in this world as well and not only his mind. _Please, be okay_. Even the minute he had finally noticed his old home in the distance and seen that some things were not as they should have been, he had still hoped. _Please, be okay_. When he was close enough to see the blind windows, he did not interrupt his mantra, and hoped, hoped… _Please, be okay_. Perhaps the inside of the house was still the same way he remembered. Perhaps at least his room was still the same way it was the morning he and his family had left the house to never return again...

_Please, be okay_.

As his feet numbly carried the blonde French man onwards, his mind slowly registered all the changes. Windows not just shattered, but ripped out with all the frames. The door was hanging in half-broken hinges; dirt on the steps leading up to it, dirt behind it. Raphael shuddered involuntarily. He knew he would later regret coming here and wondered if he should turn around and leave. But something drove him onwards, and he could not stop.

He had had that feeling – that he was going to regret this visit – all the time on his way here, and it had now proved right. _Although… I shouldn't be so surprised. It was only something to be expected_.

As he slowly made his way up the stone stairs, his cerulean eyes travelled over the cracked walls, all covered with brown, wilted ivies. They had once been a vivid green wilderness, covering the biggest part of the façade. Now they were only a skeleton of the previous lush richness. Behind the door, litter was covering almost every part of the floor. Raphael recognized a lot of familiar things there: shattered dishes, shattered glass, pieces of old rags, splinters of broken wooden furniture, torn up photographs, human dung… His eyes registered everything, every last bit of the destruction, but his mind had a hard time accepting the fact that someone had dared to violate his home in such a way. And the further he went, the worse it became. And it hurt. It hurt much more than he would ever like to admit.

_Please, be okay_…

There it was – his childhood lying in ruins, his memories now stained with the brute reality. The part of him that treasured his long lost life was screaming at him to leave, it could not cope with it, but the other part – the one that had pulled him through and kept him alive during his stay on the desert island – coldly, emotionlessly accepted everything. Raphael knew he never would be able to banish this sight from his mind. It would wear down and lose most of the details, but… His memories would overlap with this destruction and always leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

Each his step, each familiar and now so foreign scene brought back memories. In is mind's eye, he saw Sonia running through the hall, dressed in blue and her blonde hair flailing wildly. And there was the staircase and the ornate banister. He had often slid down it in a competition with Julian to see who would get to the bottom of the stairs first. Blink of his eye, and the vision was gone. Raphael's fist clenched as if on it's own accord. There was not a thing in this house that would not remind him of the bygone days and the happiness they had been filled with. The change was shocking, painful and bitter.

Raphael walked into every room, checked throughout the house, and silently acknowledged the damage done. What he saw – hurt. Hurt so much that it was almost unbearable and yet he took his time. Stopping for a few seconds in every room, he tried to accept what his eyes saw. It seemed as if someone else was walking those corridors, someone else was breathing this air. It hurt, yes, but he wanted this pain. He wanted all of it.

His childhood memories would never be the same again, now that he had seen this place. He also knew that he would not return here for a second time. He doubted he would even walk by this house ever again. The blonde debated this possibility as he walked upstairs to his old room, on the way stepping into Julian's room, the one that used to belong to Sonia leaving as the last place to visit.

The sight did not improve. If anything, it was even worse than on the ground floor. Windows gone along with all the frames, ground littered with all kind of rubbish and dung, walls covered with peeling-off tapestry and spots of mould, doors either lying on the floor or barely hanging in the hinges, pieces of old rags scattered all around the floor...

The floor itself was a huge mess, its planks almost rotten, a few dents implanted here and there, allowing him to see what was under them. He had to watch his every step unless he wanted to fall through it to land on the litter downstairs. Slowly he approached Sonia's room. The once light blue door was dirty grey now, lying on the floor of the corridor, and Raphael leaned down to pick it up and lean it against the wall with peeling tapestry. Once the way was freed, he discovered a faded out fur and bones of what was once a cat. The blonde suppressed a shudder. The dead animal did not frighten him – he had seen things far worse than that. It was the idea itself that made him feel strange. Sonia had once had a cat. Who knew – perhaps this one was the same.

He stepped over the sad skeleton and entered his sister's room. The same destruction that he had seen all around the house greeted him here as well. Raphael knew that what was left behind were only the most worthless things. Everything with at least some value had been carried away and sold off. That thought both angered and saddened him. To think that someone unknown to him had entered his house, no, his _home_ without permission, carried away, no – _stolen_ something that belonged to him and sold it off, and then spent the money on, most likely, alcohol or drugs…

But there was not a thing he could do about it. The damage had been done years ago and tracking the perpetrators down would be impossible now. Turning back time was not within his powers. Not even Dartz's.

Perhaps he should have come home earlier, perhaps he could have prevented all of this from happening, perhaps he would have been admitted to an asylum by his dear relatives so that they could split his money among themselves and enjoy their lives for as long as it lasted. There were too many possibilities and too many answers that could never be found. For one odd reason or another, Dartz had preserved his inheritance, and so Raphael was not in a dire need of money. He guessed it was because Dartz had needed his complete trust and devotion, otherwise there was no real reason for him to do anything that resembled an act of goodwill. He now knew that his inheritance was still quite impressive even though his old master had, no doubt, used the biggest part of it for his own needs.

As Raphael's eyes roamed over the destruction, he spotted a dusty and torn doll that his sister had always carried around with her. She had forgotten to take it on the trip that took their lives. The blonde faintly remembered the rivers of tears that flowed when Sonia discovered Lolita's absence, and smiled softly. It had been so treasured because their mother had sewn it herself, injuring her fingers on the way since she was not very good with needlework. But she had done it nonetheless.

He leaned down to pick the damaged doll up and brushed the dust off of it. The mouth was now more askew than it had been all those years ago, one black button eye was missing and the other one was hanging at the end of a long thread. The doll's body itself was dirty and torn, obviously chewed on by rats or mice (or maybe both), and the stuffing material showed through the gaping holes. The only arm and leg left were barely hanging onto the body, the once pink and frilly dress was now torn and covered with mould, and the long yellow yarn hair were now merely a few pathetic shreds. It looked just as pitiful as the rest of the house.

As Raphael walked down the creaking staircase to the only room that he had not yet visited, he still held the doll in his hand. He approached the living room in which his family had once spent many happy evenings when their mother would sing and play the piano. Sonia sometimes joined her in playing as well. He had left this room as the last one to see because he did not want to part with those memories quite yet.

As he walked through the now nonexistent door and descended those three steps down, his eyes locked on the piano. It was bruised and damaged, and was no longer standing in its old place. It seemed as though it had been moved, but turned out to be too heavy to get it anywhere and was left to be. Raphael approached it, and extended one hand to touch the scraped wood as if afraid that it would disappear any other moment now. It did not. He took a step closer, noticing the absence of the key lid and the bench on which his mother had sat on while playing. The blonde placed the doll on top of the instrument and walked around to face the black and white keys. He let his fingers run over them, brushing the cobwebs and dust away. A few spiders scurried off and over the torn doll, running from the sudden intrusion. Raphael brought his other hand down, letting his fingers press on the keys, drawing a few distorted sounds from the piano. It was detuned during the years, and some of the keys gave no sound at all.

He let his fingers wander over the keys aimlessly, producing a cacophony of sounds. He tried to replay the song from his memory, the one, his mother had played almost every evening, but could not. With a final hit on the keys, he straightened himself up. _Ridiculous_. He was standing in the middle of his old living room in his old home and trying to play a melody that he had never even known how to play.

"_Home_ _is where your heart lies. Yet one day you will realize, that I am where your heart lies_," Raphael whispered silently. _Ridiculous_. He spun on his heel and strode out of the house, and away from his old life and his memories. _Coming here__ was a waste of time._

* * *

Finding a job was not an issue for him, considering the money he still had left, but he decided to find one nonetheless. He needed something to concentrate on, something that would demand the most of his time so that there was none left for him to waste on thinking about things he could not undo.

He had no idea what he could do, now that he had so much free time on his hands. There had been little time for him to develop any hobbies while serving Dartz, other than duelling and relieving his targets of their souls, but none of that would help him now. One of his skills that he knew would be appreciated in the world he had been so suddenly thrown in was piloting a jet. Even if he could find someone who needed a pilot, he doubted they would accept him just like that, without a diploma, recommendations and a whole lot of other papers that he did not have. Also, his cold logic told him that even the smallest connection with Paradius Industries could become a serious roadblock in his path if it became known.

While all of those obstacles could be easily bypassed, he was more concerned about one thing – would working as a pilot provide the needed distraction from his thoughts and memories?

In the end, Raphael decided on becoming a construction worker. Tearing down houses and building new ones was a heavy and dirty job, one that demanded all of his strength and concentration, but he saw it as a blessing. Every evening he returned to the cheap apartment he was renting on the outskirts of Saint-Étienne completely exhausted. He only had enough energy for a quick shower before falling asleep on the worn-out couch the previous inhabitants of the apartment had left behind.

Ever since the day Raphael had returned to France, he had dreamed only once. It had been the second day after his visit to his old home. Dreams came to him no longer; he had made sure of it by working himself to exhaustion. Maybe he did work harder than necessary, did more than his co-workers, but he did not care. Memories did not haunt him anymore and that was good.

When the construction site moved, Raphael moved as well. He lived in trailers and poorly decorated apartments, adapted to the eating habits of his fellow workers and the sleeping patterns of a person who works too hard to forget. There were a few women in his life: passing by, stopping for a moment, and vanishing after one night; sometimes even sooner. Short, tall, level-headed, feisty, blonde, black-haired. They were always the ones to make the first move, to initiate the relationship, knowing that it would not be a long-lasting one. They changed every time he moved to a new place. It was a life he chose to replace the old one and to shut up the ghosts that were not all that eager to leave him alone.

It was not what Raphael had really wanted, but it was something that got him by, and with time, he was used to living this way. He got to know the people he worked with, took part in their hobbies and started sharing their ways of spending the free time. Slowly but steadily he was moving onwards; and one day came the moment when he could look back at his past without any regrets. He was no longer haunted by the memories of the decrepit house. He could think about it, could go back to it in thoughts without any risk of getting caught into sad memories. The bitterness was still there, but he had long since accepted it. And sometimes, when he thought back to the time he had spent under Dartz's power, he wondered what had become of Varon and Amelda. It was not like he missed them; it was just human curiosity, a silent wondering about the fate of the people he had worked together with.

What were they doing now? Where they alive at all? He knew that, if anything, Varon was a survivor. Amelda... he was not so sure about. Something about the redhead companion told him that he did not possess too stable a psyche. If there was one person capable of laying hands on himself, it had to be him.

A chill passed down Raphael's spine and he shook the thoughts away along with the stale remains of low-grade coffee from the disposable carton cup which he crumpled in his fist afterwards. The break was over. He had to go back to his work.

That night, Raphael did not return to his apartment. He went out with the rest of the construction site workers and did his best to partake in the partying they started in a pub not too far from their apartment block. Coincidentally, there was a football game going on between two French teams and the place was already crowded with fans. The waitress was running around, sweat rolling down the sides of her face, as she tried to cater to everyone's needs. She passed Raphael a few times, balancing the round metallic tray in one hand and herself on incredibly high heels. He would have not paid any attention to her, but a rather snide comment one of his co-workers made allowed him to look at the girl through their eyes.

No taller than 1.60, chin-length black hair, excessive use of glittering blue eye shadow, tight white blouse and short black skirt – an idol of perfection and beauty as seen by the men of his level. "Irene," read her name tag when Raphael caught a glimpse of it the next time she passed by his seat.

Later thinking back on the night's events, Raphael could not figure out what exactly had prompted him to speak up and start a conversation that dragged on until the wee hours of the morning when he was the only customer and the owner of the pub was about to call it a night (even though it was already close to morning) and close the business. He accompanied Irene on her way home, even though she ended up half-supporting him when he stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. From that point on, it was a done deal.

They found each other on the floor in Irene's tiny apartment that was even smaller than Raphael's temporary dwelling. Sated, intoxicated, and the ache in their backs slowly starting to sink in, they lay side by side for a while, waiting for the world to stop swaying. But once they had reached her bed, Raphael caught a glimpse of her alarm clock and cursed. He was running late for work and even though Irene was trying to cajole him to take the day off, he left her in a hurry with a promise of returning.

And return he did. Right after work he came to the same pub and sat in solitude, slowly consuming his drink. The time dragged on, but this time they did not wait for the pub keeper to announce closing. Right after the three last customers had walked out of the pub, they left as well.

It continued like this for a long while; even after his brigade had finished working in that area, Raphael stayed behind. He took up small insignificant jobs that kept him occupied during most of the day. The nights were always spent in Irene's apartment. At around the tenth time they met, Raphael already knew most of her background. She was not native French, had no family, and she had come to this country in hopes of becoming a model. Then a scandal in that business had made her leave Paris. Not wanting to go home (for there was no place for her to return to) and having fallen in love with the country and the people, she stayed somewhere conveniently far away from the capital in hopes the bad rumours would not follow her.

Even though Raphael learned more and more about Irene, she was not given the same privilege. All he allowed were hints and glimpses and half-truths. He feared that she was not able to take all the truth about his past right away. Just knowing the basics that he was French, that his family had died in a shipwreck and that he had spent years working for a company that went bankrupt in the end was quite enough in his opinion.

It was all perfect; as perfect as it could get given the circumstances and both their backgrounds, Raphael thought. Slowly, he was learning to feel again. He had locked his emotions away for years and now Irene was teaching him to trust people again. And when she confessed love to him, unable to speak the words aloud, he let his needy mouth and feverishly roaming hands tell of everything that needed to be said. For the first time in forever he was considering having a family again.

Four months after first meeting each other, they were already having plans of moving to live together. Things were looking up for them and Raphael dared to hope that everything would turn out well.

A week after they had moved into a nice clean apartment in a rather green and partially rural area of the city, his dreams of a brighter future got crushed. He had gotten off of his job earlier and was in a particularly good mood, going over the things he wanted to share with Irene. Among other things, he wondered what her response would be if he proposed a civil marriage. Raphael was never one to make rash decisions, but something inside urged him to go for it this time.

When he reached the pub, police cars with blinking lights were standing in front of it. Even from afar he could see the shattered windows and trashed interior. Strange fear gripped at his heart and, from that point on, every step he took seemed like a rinse-repeat of an old nightmare. Such a horrible sense of déjà vu, he thought. All wrong, but perfectly right in that inexplicably cruel and twisted way. Entirely different, but exactly the same as the time long, long ago when the ship he was on with his family went down.

Slowly walking forwards, Raphael kept catching fragments of conversations among the people gathered.

"...shooting and a robbery..."

"No one survived."

"...visitors... personnel... all dead... some psycho..."

"...teenage druggies... lots of money..."

Raphael ground his teeth. It could not happen twice. Not again. Not to him. Dartz was gone; he could not interfere in his life anymore. Those and many other thoughts ran through his mind when he walked up to the closest police officer and questioned him. '_My fiancée_,' were the words that opened the man's mouth. He looked apologetic and sincere as he gazed first at the trashed pub, then back at the blonde man.

"I'm sorry, sir, but it seems that no one survived."

_Why?_ It was the only word that echoed in his mind, the only coherent thought that he still clung to even as he watched the paramedics come out of the low building with a confirmation that none had lived. That one word kept ringing in his ears when coroners came and carried out the concealed bodies and he would never know which one of them was Irene. He remained standing in front of the pub long into the night. The last remaining officers tried to guide him away by telling him that there was not a thing he could do and that they would take him home if he gave them their address. _Why?_

Raphael remained silent. It did not look like he even acknowledged the policemen being there. In the end, he was left alone in front of the sealed building. Slowly, as if through haze, he walked towards it, stopping as close as the police barriers would allow him, and looked at the familiar interior. Now the inside was one big racket: shards of glass lying everywhere, shattered bottles with spilled liquid almost on every surface, broken dishes and scattered food, blotches of blood. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

It did not feel real to him even though his mind had started to acknowledge and accept it. Part of him still wanted to believe that some kind of mistake was made here; that Irene had not come to work today, that she was still safe somewhere out there. Perhaps she was already home, waiting for him and worrying because he was not returning. _Perhaps_... Raphael shook his head as if shaking off a bad dream. He needed to make sure first. When he turned around, he discovered one of the policemen still lingering around, watching him closely in case he attempted something stupid. With his mind made up, the blond man approached the officer. He wanted to see Irene.

The policeman was slightly surprised when Raphael demanded to see his fiancée. His colleagues had tried to tell this man that he needed to follow them to identify the woman, but he had not listened. He had not even acknowledged their existence and now... Of course, they had found her personal documents in the pub and had already established her identity, but her friends and relatives would still need the closure that only seeing her dead could provide. The officer shook off his slight incredulity and went along with the man's demand. If he recovered enough, he might get the chance of taking him to the police station for a routine questioning.

Raphael did not know how he ended back at their apartment. It seemed so empty without Irene. The walls seemed to be rounding in on him, pressing close. The air felt stale in his lungs and he slumped down in the corner of the old couch they had brought from Irene's old apartment. He could feel her presence in every little thing and he could not stop waiting for her to come into the room and sit down next to him.

Slowly, he reached for something he had not touched in quite some time – a small metallic box that encased his most treasured things. He pulled out the Guardian cards and placed them on the low table in front of the couch. He did not know how long he sat just staring at them. Elbows propped on his thighs, fingers curled in his hair and digging in his scalp painfully, he gazed at the cards. And then he laughed. Silently in the beginning, but it grew in volume eventually; and soon the bitter and broken sound was echoing off of the walls and jarring his own ears. He was alone again.

Everything he had had, everything had been borrowed. The emotions he had borrowed from Irene. The illusion of a family he had also borrowed from her. But in the end, all that prevailed and stood intact by his side at a moment like this were his Guardian cards. There was Eatos. There was Grarl. And there was Kay'est. It was the only real family he had left, no matter how borrowed it, too, was.

He remained in the same pose for hours. The laughter had died away and emptiness had settled in his chest. Time slowly dragged along as Raphael lingered between slumber and reality until eventually the exhaustion won him over and he fell asleep, still crouched over.

Morning came and found him in a heap on the floor. He had fallen off of the couch and once on the ground, had remained that way. Half awake and half asleep, he spent hours in that uncomfortable position. Sometimes, when he was awake and acknowledged it, he would gaze up at the backs of his three Guardian cards on the glass table. Had they, too, turned their backs on him?

Slowly, he reached up to swipe them off the table, but his intention changed in half-motion and he fiercely brought his fist down onto the table right down on the three cards. When the glass did not yield, he lifted his fist again and slammed it down once more. Again and again, until the glass shattered and rained down on the floor and over Raphael, cutting his face, but he paid no heed to it. As if in a deep trance, he looked at Eatos, Grarl and Kay'est among the bits of glass. It had been a while since he had last held them in his hand and tentatively he reached out and traced his fingers over them and over the glass, wiping the shards away with more force than was necessary and cutting his fingers as he did so.

The pain registered. He stared at the twinkling transparent shards sticking out from his fingers and the blood gathering around them and starting to drip down. Drop after drop right on his precious Guardians.

Blood.

Suddenly he was seeing a different time and a different place. There was blood on his hands and he had lain on the ground in a similar pose. His hands had been raw and bruised from clinging to a plank for his dear life. He was back on the island all alone again and the ship that had passed not too far away from the shores had disappeared beyond the horizon. They had not noticed the boy who had tried to row his way through the waves towards them and towards his own saviour.

No one was aware of his existence.

The situation repeated itself now. He was alone again. He had lost a family for a second time.

His eyes fell back on the three cards. This substitute family was all that he would ever have. Disregarding the glass and his own blood, he reached for the cards and grasped them tightly in his hand. They had seen better times and better handling, but right now Raphael simply did not care.

It had been long since he last held them. It had been long since he last sought protection and love with them. They were the Guardians. That was their fate.

A horrible desire to destroy took a hold of Raphael. The cards crumpled in his hand for the first time in life.

The next day, Raphael left the city and Irene's final resting place behind to return to his roots. What happened with Irene's remains no longer concerned him.

Remembering his time in Doma, he bought a motorcycle and set out on a rather long trip back home. Memories had come together and mixed, different voices from different times were calling out to him and he knew that they were all dead, but the wish to respond was almost too great to resist.

Once Raphael had arrived at his destination, he left his motorcycle leaning against a tree in the old garden and headed for a petrol station he had seen during his previous visit here. With a convincing story (though it was quite unnecessary) that his bike had died a few kilometres from the station, he bought a can of petrol and returned to his old home. For one last time he wandered through the decrepit and slowly crumbling building. Whether he was saying goodbye or cursing the walls, it was hard to tell. Upon returning to the ground floor, he picked up the can and spilled it in the living room, on the stairs to the second floor and in the kitchen, leaving small poor right in front of the main entrance. For a moment Raphael stood in the middle of the corridor, breathing in the smell of dust, dirt and petrol and watching light streaming through the windows and other cracks in the walls. Up until that point he had not paid any attention the weather outside.

It was a hot summer. There had been no rain for a few weeks and the building was thoroughly dry. The wood would catch fire easily. With that thought in his mind, Raphael reached in his pocket and drew out a pack of matches he had found in the kitchen. They were old and did not want to burn when he struck them. One after another he kept striking them and tossing them to the ground until one produced a strong enough spark, but did not burn long. Muttering curses under his breath, the man went to fetch some old newspapers from the kitchen. He dipped them into the petrol, crouched down and laboured again to light a fire.

Eventually, a few matches lit up and burned long enough for the paper to catch a flame. For a moment, Raphael only watched in wonder how it burned and grew in power. Slowly, he reached for a broken chair's leg and stuck it into the flame, waiting for it to light, too. Once that was done, he carried it like a torch throughout the ground floor and stuck it into the small puddles of petrol, traced it along anything that could quickly catch fire and eventually wandered into the living room and put the burning piece of wood inside the old piano.

A good while Raphael just stood there, watching how the flames grew in might and spread around, crawling along the walls and eating away at his home, but not his memories. Heat increased and only when the fire got too close to him, he remembered that he needed to get out. He looked around, his head incredibly clear, and assessed the possibilities. Taking his time, Raphael walked towards a window that the flames had not yet reached and climbed outside. Lightly, he jumped down and landed on a patch of soil overgrown with gone-wild flowers: it had been his mother's flowerbed once and some of them still bloomed among the weeds, but their blossoms were weak and small in comparison to what they had once been like.

Slowly, Raphael headed to where his motorcycle was standing and, leaning against the tree with his shoulder, he watched the fire spread and reach up into the sky. The old house groaned and crackled in protest, and the fire roared as if answering it and set to work even more viciously.

At one point, Raphael became aware of sirens. The sound was growing in volume and heading his way, but he did not run. He had no intention to do so. Come here with a certain goal in his mind, he would stick around and see it done: he would see the house of his childhood and the source of his now-bitter memories burn to the ground and disappear from the face of the Earth. To secure this plan, the French man straightened himself up and headed for the old rusty gates. For the first time in several decades, the gate moved and closed. A shiny, new chain twined around the old rusty bars and a brand new key turned in a brand new lock, shutting the world out and leaving it on the other side.

The first fire-fighters' truck came to a halt in front of the locked gates of the old villa. That was an unexpected hindrance in their path. Though they fire-fighters could use the break in the fence to get inside, the hose would not reach. One of the men noticed Raphael and seeing the situation and his calmness, got a pretty good idea of what was going on here. Nevertheless, he walked over to him with a demand to unlock the gates.

Raphael did not even look at him. He could not unlock it even if he would want to. The key had been tossed away somewhere in the depths of the overgrown garden and he had not bothered to look where it landed.

"Let it burn," was all he said.

The man glanced at the house. It was an old wreck, everyone in the town knew it and no harm would come from burning it down, but he was on a duty and could not allow such actions take place. He should have let the police handle this, but, for some reason, they were being late.

When the fire-fighter pressed on, Raphael moved as if some other force would be guiding him, punched the man in the face and repeated his new mantra again.

"_Let it burn_."

The minute the man fell to the ground, police had already arrived and quickly interfered in the increasingly dangerous situation by taking Raphael into custody. In handcuffs and positioned in the police car, he kept looking back on the burning house for as long as he could. He watched the fire-fighter's truck break down the gates, men rushing around and trying to save what could never be saved.

It was borrowed, he thought. All borrowed. Their lives, their goals, their ideals. Their will to fight threats to the humanity. Why else would they try to save old burning memories that deserved to be put to rest?

He only had his three Guardian cards with him, his borrowed family that was always by his side, always ready to protect him. It was all he had on that night in the cold cell at the local police station.

And that was where Amelda found him.


End file.
